


Not Quite a Fashion Disaster

by boom_slap



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-15
Updated: 2019-06-15
Packaged: 2020-05-12 07:09:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19224175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boom_slap/pseuds/boom_slap
Summary: Crowley liked Aziraphale's stupid, outdated clothes. He did.He also wanted to wrap the angel up in expensive fabrics and make him feel fancy as fuck.





	Not Quite a Fashion Disaster

"You shf- you should let me take you shopping," Crowley managed to say around a piece of crispy chicken in ginger sauce.

Aziraphale has somehow managed to convince his dearest demon to try eating, not just drinking. It all started very small, with tiny bites offered by Aziraphale whenever he ate. Then it turned into slipping chocolates between Crowley's lips, or feeding him fruits, or saying "I'm full- would you like to finish it up, dear?" even though he could finish his own meal no problem.

Plain things and full-on plates were still a no go, but Crowley has grown to like sweets and spices, and the two have begun to share every meal. It was nice. Intimate.

"Shopping?" Aziraphale frowned, licking his fingers. "What for?"

"You know what for. You look so outdated."

"You like-"

"Yesss," Crowley hissed. "I like your stupid coat and your stupid vest and your stupid bowtie. But mostly, I like taking them off."

Aziraphale shot him a side glance, trying not to smirk.

"Nevertheless," the demon continued, "I'd like to take you shopping. Choose your clothes. Make you look fresh and delicious. You'll like it, I promise. Just like you loved naps."

That was true. Aziraphale has learned how to sleep, thanks to Crowley. He loved sleeping at night, the two of them wrapped around each other in complete darkness, breathing each other in, slowly melting into one another.

What surprised him was how much he loved to nap during the day - stretching out in an armchair, on the couch or on the bed, seeking out spots of sunshine like a cat, allowing himself this sweet and wonderful laziness on a warm afternoon. The best part was waking up to a smell of coffee and a familiar hand sneaking under his shirt to lightly scratch at the nape of his neck.

"Fine," Aziraphale sighed. "I can try."

Crowley grinned at him.

***

"Daaamn, Angel !"

Aziraphale turned around to look into a mirror. He was-... surprised? Proud? Definitely slightly embarrassed by the low whistle coming from Crowley who was currently stretched out on a couch.

He had picked some clothes for his angel, clothes that were obviously in Crowley's taste, but shockingly enough, they fitted Aziraphale like a dream.

Elrgant brown boots, a pair of light-colored and well-fitted jeans that would make Aziraphale uncomfortable if it wasn't for a loose light-grey sweatshirt, long enough to cover everything the angel was anxious to show off, topped off with a long navy overcoat.

"Well-..." Aziraphale coughed, his eyes wide. "I look-... Um..."

"You look," Crowley stood up and strode over to the angel, turning him around and taking his face in his hands, "like you could face all of Hell and Heaven," he raked his hands through Aziraphale's hair, pushing it back, "and tell them to fuck off."

Aziraphale couldn't fight off a smile.

"Is that so?"

Crowley pressed his lips to the angel's ear.

"Yeah. You look ssssleak."

***

They ended up buying some elegant, modern clothes, chosen by Crowley, and some sweaters which Aziraphale would slip into whenever he wanted to stay in and read.

Crowley was really proud of his work, although he knew that it would take some time for Aziraphale to really figure out what he likes. 

A few weeks later, he was hanging around the bookshop, snooping for unopened bottles of alcohol and flipping through some old volumes, waiting for his angel who, for some reason, was not there.

It was not often nowadays for Aziraphale to be away both from Crowley and the bookshop.

The bell above the door rang and a familiar scent filled Crowley's nostrils.

"Where have you been? I'm so bored, angel," he complained, not looking up from the rum bottle in his hand.

"I went shopping with Anathema! It was so nice, my dear," came the jolly answer as Aziraphale stepped into the room.

Crowley looked up, opening his mouth to comment on Aziraphale going shopping with other people while it was clear that Crowley had the best taste-

He froze. His brain stopped functioning. It simply gave up.

Crowley regretted taking off his glasses earlier, because now he couldn't hide his wide eyes, staring at Aziraphale without blinking.

Aziraphale was wearing dungarees.

Dungarees. Light-colored, denim dungarees, rolled up above his naked ankles. DUNGAREES, with a white, tight shirt with three-quarters length sleeves underneath.

It was... something else, and Crowley's brain was fuming trying to figure out what the actual fuck was going on.

Aziraphale blushed and looked down at his outfit, then back up at Crowley.

"You-... you find it ridiculous, don't you?"

And then. Then it clicked. A wide smile crept up on the demon's face and he strode over to Aziraphale, grabbing his waist and pulling him flush against himself.

"I do," he said, grinning, positively beaming. "It's so fucking ridiculous, you have no idea," he said and hugged the confused angel, taking in his scent and letting out an actual, goddamned laugh of pure _joy_.

"It's so very _you_. "


End file.
